


Better Than Pie

by powerless_passerby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Food Fight, It's Dean's birthday, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sam just wants him to have a good day, domestic boys in the bunker, hint of smut at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerless_passerby/pseuds/powerless_passerby
Summary: The clanging is coming from the kitchen. Dean creeps around the corner, gun held at the ready, and freezes at the sight in front of him.“Hey,” Sam says a touch sheepishly, beaming toward Dean despite the fact that his hair has greyed under an onslaught of flour and there’s a mixing bowl on the kitchen floor, batter splattered all over the tiles.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	Better Than Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thorki_And_Other_Obsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorki_And_Other_Obsessions/gifts).



> This is a day late, but happy birthday Meg!! I hope this fulfills your want for fluff and domestic boys and that you enjoy it!! Love you!! 
> 
> <3 <3

Dean wakes to an empty bed and a distant cacophony of noise. For a moment, his throat goes tight with panic—Sam isn’t here, there shouldn’t be noise like that in the bunker, and he’s not there protecting him. He grabs his gun, doesn’t bother with shoes, and strides down the hallway with the cold bunker floor against his bare feet.

He follows the noise, heart pounding. Whoever or whatever is messing with Sam is about to get a serious wakeup call.

The clanging is coming from the kitchen. Dean creeps around the corner, gun held at the ready, and freezes at the sight in front of him.

“Hey,” Sam says a touch sheepishly, beaming toward Dean despite the fact that his hair has greyed under an onslaught of flour and there’s a mixing bowl on the kitchen floor, batter splattered all over the tiles.

Dean sighs in relief, clicking his safety back on and setting the gun on the kitchen table. He surveys the mess for a second time. “Sam…what are you doing?”

Sam chuckles, his ears turning pink. “I wanted to make you a pie. Bowl slipped out of my hands.”

Dean blinks at him. “You were gonna make me pie?”

“Well, I wanted to,” Sam says. “I had hoped to get it done before you woke up, but uh…anyway, it was going to be part of what I did for your birthday.”

Dean smiles, stepping forward into the kitchen. “You don’t need to do anything for my birthday.”

Sam rolls his eyes, messing with his flour-dusted hair again. “Beg to differ. You’re my big brother and the love of my life. Kinda owe you at least _something_ on your birthday.”

“Something, huh?” Dean says, coming to a stop in front of his baby and dropping his hands to Sam’s waist. “How about starting with a kiss?”

Sam grins, cups Dean’s face with batter-sticky fingers, and joins their mouths in a sweet, slow kiss.

Dean melts into it, mind going blank with the bliss of kissing his soulmate, and thinks that this is a pretty damn nice way to start his birthday.

They kiss until Dean breaks them apart and leans their foreheads together. “So…how’d you get so much flour in your hair, boy genius?”

“Set the bag down too hard and it puffed a cloud of flour into my face,” Sam says. “Wiped it off my face, but can’t exactly wash my hair in the middle of trying to make pie crust.”

Dean snorts at that, shaking his head. Sam leans forward and peppers Dean’s face and neck with kisses until Dean’s beaming and his ears are red.

They stand together for a moment, and then Sam sighs and looks over his shoulder at the mess. “I gotta admit…I don’t know how to make pie. This one was already turning into a disaster.”

Dean laughs, leaning forward to press another kiss to Sam’s lips. “How about we make it together, then?”

“As long as you’ll enjoy doing that on your birthday,” Sam answers. “I could figure it out myself if you had something else you wanted to do this morning.”

“Nah,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I’d love to bake with you this morning, Sammy.”

Sam smiles. “Okay. But…I think we need to start with cleaning all this up.”

Dean groans. “Let’s just clean everything up when we’re done. I’m sure we’ll make just as much of a mess the second time around anyway.”

“Yeah…you’re probably right.”

They fall quiet for a moment, and then Dean can’t resist stealing another kiss. Sam’s hands drop to Dean’s hips and pull him in, and they stand wrapped up in each other for a long few minutes, exploring each other’s mouths.

Eventually, they remember the task at hand, and Dean starts walking Sam through the process of making a pie. They start with the dough for the pie crust, which ends in Dean upending half a bag of flour over Sam’s head and Sam dousing Dean with sugar.

Dean declares that the dough has to be put in the fridge for an hour, so while it’s setting, they clean the kitchen. Well, _try_ to clean the kitchen.

Sam and Dean couldn’t afford to get in food fights when they were younger, because they couldn’t waste food. Now, however, they end up goofing around and tossing things at each other fairly often whenever they’re cooking or baking together—because Sam doesn’t have the skills to cook or bake well by himself.

It starts with the eggs. While Sam washes out the mixing bowl that had fallen on the floor, he flicks some wet batter at Dean’s face. Dean’s walking by with the carton of eggs, sprouts a wicked grin, and cracks an egg onto Sam’s hair.

After that, it’s all out war. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, no ingredient is off limits. They turn the kitchen into an absolute _nightmare_ —raw eggs drip out of their hair onto the floor, puffs of flour drift to the floor, and globs of butter slide off of their cheeks onto the tiles. Flour ends up all over the cabinet doors, in Dean’s eyelashes, making his teeth gritty.

He hasn’t laughed so hard in a long, long time. He goes for the milk at one point, slips on a butter-egg slippery floor, and splashes a good amount of milk onto the tiles. Then he rights himself, steps forward, and upends the jug over Sam’s head before his brother can get away.

Sam squawks, rivulets of milk running down his face and flattening his hair to his head, and moves to get out from under the impromptu shower. He slips on the floor as well, grabs Dean’s arm instinctively, and brings them both crashing down onto the floor, Sam on his back and Dean on top of him.

Sam is laughing. Real, infectious, hysterical laughter that comes from low in his belly. It’s the kind of laughter from Sam that Dean hasn’t heard in forever, and it makes him laugh too, absolutely smitten with the gorgeous man laying underneath him.

Sam’s booming laughter fades a bit after a few moments. Still giggling a little, he smirks, hooks a leg around Dean’s, and rolls them over so that he’s on top of Dean.

“I can’t believe you just wasted an entire gallon of milk,” Sam says, beaming and shaking his head. His hair is dripping milk, egg, and flour onto Dean’s face.

“Says you,” Dean scoffs. “You wasted practically every egg we had other than the first one I used.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Sam deadpans.

Dean snorts, then presses up and kisses Sam. Sam’s lips taste like milk, which makes Dean laugh into the kiss, and in turn makes Sam laugh. The kiss turns sloppy and they break apart when their teeth clash.

“I almost don’t know whether we should clean the kitchen first or shower first,” Sam says, looking around at the carnage around them and then at the raw eggs congealing into Dean’s hair.

“I say shower,” Dean says, smirking. “I need help washing all this crap outta my hair.”

“Of course you do,” Sam snorts. “Okay, shower it is. Just because it’s your birthday and you get to call the shots today.”

Dean kisses him for that, and then Sam stands and pulls him up. He looks around at the kitchen and sighs at the mess, although the smile on his face undercuts the long-suffering sigh, and then Dean’s dragging him down the hall to the bathroom.

Sam shuts and locks the door behind them, and then he’s pulling Dean into a far more heated kiss, shoving his flannel off of his shoulders, and reaching for his pants.

Dean goes with it easily, tugging Sam’s shirt over his head and slipping Sam’s pajama pants down.

So Dean hasn’t gotten his pie yet. But he’s had the most fun morning with Sam, and now Sam’s pulling him under the hot spray of the shower, sucking bruises into his neck, and his fingers are dancing over Dean’s hip, down to the forest of pubic hair, and Dean’s in paradise.

Later, they finish the pie, and eat it in their room watching Netflix, and Dean can't get over how lucky he is to have his brother here, holding him, so so gorgeous and so so perfect, and he has pie, and he has this home, and he's happier than he's been in years.

Dean leans in for another kiss, apple pie sweet on his lips, and wishes for every day to be like this.


End file.
